John's Second Death
by NoilyPrat
Summary: What happened between leaving Dean and Sam finding John on the floor? What did the Demon and John say to each other? (Rated T for language) Tag: In My Time of Dying (also references In the Beginning)


A/N: This came to me a while back, and after working on it over a year and a half, wanted to publish it. So sorry life won't let me publish, but I do enjoy the little snippets that I can do.

John paused just outside his hospital room. He carefully wiped away the tears, shed with Dean just a minute earlier. He took a breath to compose himself before facing his adversary for the final time. Sauntering into the room, he carefully laid down the one precious piece of weaponry that could kill the demon as Yellow Eyes smirked at him from the other side of the table.

John quietly said okay in that deep gravely voice. After a beat he added, "You son of a bitch. I'm ready."

"This brings back memories," the demon began, reaching out and stroking his right hand over the Colt. "This isn't the first time; I killed you once before - 10 years before I killed your wife."

John forces himself not to jolt, his right fist tightening slightly in the sling before relaxing his bloodied hand. He didn't know this info; it made him infuriated, yet nervous.

"I needed something to hang over Mary's head. I liked her, you see - and needed permission to enter her home. All that silly red tape. Your home, John." The demon punctuated his statement with a finger aimed at the hunter, before continuing his narrative. "Well, I killed her parents, but that wasn't enough." The demon gloated over John's attempt to hide his surprise in the widening of his eyes. "She would have ran to you, and nothing would have been accomplished. So I snapped your neck." Azazel reached out in mid-air to demonstrate.

John braced himself to die. The demon only pantomimed the quick twist of a broken neck, the smirk widening at him, before he continued his monologuing. John wondered why the bad guys always wanted to brag. Even when Yellow Eyes was winning - John offering up the Colt and his own life - it seemed the demon had to boast.

"Your death devastated her. She couldn't see a future. I offered my deal … " the demon paused, savoring the moment with a smack of his lips.

Unwillingly, John gritted his teeth and asked the question the demon was longing to hear. "What was it?" His heart ached for his wife. He remembered how upset she'd been over her parents' death. It was also during that time she never let him leave her sight. He'd assumed it was romantic at the time, but then wondered if it was a fear from losing her parents, and a possibly fear of losing him.

But if he had died as well … his heart sank. Her deal was to bring him back to life. It had to be!

Azazel waited until the realization crossed John's face. Oh, taunting was so much better than _just_ killing! "That's right! Your life, for access to your home in ten years. And in ten years …"

John felt violently ill. That was the night that Mary died! Now, he realized, she would have recognized the demon for what it really was before it killed her. But … that was also the night his youngest had become tainted with demon blood. That bastard had stood over Sam's crib and fed him blood, his own blood. All because Mary made a deal to bring him back to life. He regretted it for a brief instant. All that pain and the misery. Mary's death; everything had been done to bring him back to life.

Then he thought of everything that had happened because he was brought back to life. John enjoyed a good life with Mary. He had Mary for 10 years, and never stopped loving her. Her smile, her laugh. The way she looked when she walked down the short aisle in that chapel in Las Vegas when they married, because as she put it - "We're the only two people who matter. Why invite others to our day?" The late summer evening before dinner when she shyly announced she was pregnant, and he thought his heart would burst with happiness. He had told her he was the happiest man alive, and they packed up her dinner for the refrigerator so he could take her out to eat as a celebration. The snowy day he paced in the hospital as it took forever for Dean to be born. He was wrong earlier - _now_ he was the happiest man alive, just cradling the tiny baby in his arms, as his son blinked up at him.

A tear started to form in the hunter's eye. He had suppressed memories, emotions, for so long.

The next memory gem came up - how happy they both were, bringing their firstborn son into their home. Hearing "da-da" from Dean's lips as Mary encouraged the squirming little boy. How much happier he was even still when Mary slid into bed and cuddled up next to him one night, after putting Dean to bed, whispering and giggling that John would be a father a second time. The smiles on all three of their faces that Christmas, when Mary was pregnant with Sam, as they hung up an extra ornament in anticipation for the baby on the tree. John and Dean waited together for little Sammy to be born, Mary being a trooper with nine hours of labor. The moment when baby Sammy was handed over to his big brother Dean, who had begged to hold the baby, jumping up and down in his eagerness. John's memories skipped over _that night_ \- no reason to think of that.

They had two boys together. John was blessed to see them growing up - clambering over trees and rocks through the woods, running through empty buildings in the cities, hunting nightmarish things, and saving so many more people than even he couldn't keep count. How fast Sam could rattle off his memorized Latin that night in the Virginia backwoods, even the tricky parts. It had been funny to see the surprised look on that witch's face before they finished her off. How sure Dean was with John's Colt M1911A1, sweat dripping from his hairline, nailing all 7 of the beer bottles on the first try that late summer day in August. John had been so proud of Dean, who stood there smiling like he'd just finished having sex, wiping his arm across his forehead; John had given Dean his gun on the spot. Sam's last salt and burn, saving Dean by a flying tackle before the ghost could shish-kebab the older brother with the burning plank. His boys were grown - strong, good men. They fought the good fight. He was so proud of them, his heart filled each time he stopped to think about it. Another tear tracked down his cheek. None of them - his precious Mary, dependable Dean, smart Sam - would have happened if he hadn't returned from the dead. If Mary hadn't made her deal with the devil.

For those memories and so many more, John pulled himself up to his full height, and with more tears tracking down his face, he smiled at the demon.

Azazel watched in glee as John almost lost it, bowing down with the invisible weight of knowing all of it was his fault that was laid on his back. Then something happened. John pulled himself back out of it. Azazel frowned. John was supposed to be in abject misery.

"Because you lived, I got Sam. A good trade."

John knew the demon had gotten to Sammy as a baby. What it didn't know was John had raised Sam to do the right thing. To hunt evil, to save people. True, Sam had run away to go to college, but he was firmly back in the family business now. More importantly, he raised Dean right. Not only could Dean be a great general, but Dean could be a better hunter than even his own father, if Dean hadn't reached that mark yet. With his whispered warning to his oldest just minutes past, "You have to save Sam, or kill him," John knew that Yellow-Eyes would never have Sam. Never! Dean would save Sam, because Dean would _never_ contemplate killing his younger brother. Dean was Sam's older brother, and that meant Sam was Dean's entire world. Yellow-Eyes lost; it just didn't know this yet. John's smile stayed firm.

"Sam's mine!"

John never wavered from smiling at the demon, almost enjoying this.

"Today, John Winchester, you are no longer a pain in my ass." Azazel narrowed his eyes at John. Without a sound, John arched up and collapsed backwards onto the floor, dead within seconds of the massive stroke. Azazel stepped out from behind the hospital tray table and stood over the body, staring down rapturously. That stupid smile was wiped off John's face. Wonderful happiness and glee filled the demon. The very thing he wanted most had just happened. He, Azazel, had been the one to kill that bastard John Winchester. He also now had his second most wanted thing, the Colt. Lovingly he picked it up, before addressing the cooling corpse.

"You've lost your war with me. I win." He vanished.

Sam ambled back down the hallway, carrying a cup of caffeine his dad had asked for earlier. He reached his dad's room and started by. He idly glanced into the hospital room, not really expecting to see anyone since Dad had been in Dean's room earlier. Time stopped. Sam was shocked to see Dad lying on the floor. Dropping the cup, Sam ran into the room. Everything seemed slower; nothing was at the right speed.

"Help!" It was wrong - so wrong. Dad shouldn't need help - Dad was … Dad. A permanent fixture. The best hunter ever. Strong, hard. Sure, he needed patched up occasionally. But not -

Time sped back up, almost too fast. The hospital personnel came running. Sam somehow had the presence of mind to race back to grab Dean from his room. He tried to tell him about Dad, opening his mouth but nothing came out. One look at Sam's panicked face and somehow Dean knew instantly there was something wrong.

"Help me up Sam!"

Dean's hand reached out to grasp Sam, to pull himself up and out of the bed. His legs were a bit rubbery at first, but he was able to lock them in place until he could move forward; Sam helping Dean by pulling and half carrying Dean most of the way back to Dad's room. Dean was frantic to get to Dad; the distance took forever.

The room was now filled with nurses and a doctor working over Dad. The oxygen mask to breathe was on Dad's face, the paddles to shock his impossible unbreakable heart back to life, and the CPR - yet with all of that nothing worked.

A nurse tried to stop them from entering. "You'll have to wait outside."

Dean was a stubborn jackass when he had to be, and no one was going to move him from watching. "No, no, no, it's our Dad. It's our Dad!"

The nurse backed away, perhaps sensing that neither brother was going to move. It wasn't as if they were in the way, only in the doorway, so they could see everything happening without being a hindrance. Sam was grateful, hovering right behind Dean.

"500cc's ready to go."

"Okay, let's try that again. An amp of Atropine." The doctor was calmly giving orders, as Sam and Dean's world was crumbling apart.

Sam overheard Dean under his breath, pleading for it to work, "Come on." As if Dad could hear them, as if they could will Dad back to life. As if the great John Winchester wasn't lying so still in bed.

"Pushing Atropine."

Once the needle pushed in the precious medicine, the nurse responded, "In".

The Doctor ordered compressions stopped, the nurse gave John one last breath, and stopped.

Again Sam overheard Dean willing the procedure to work, "Come on, come on." Every last bit of will Dean had was being sent to Dad, as they waited that long indeterminate time to see if anything had worked.

"Still no pulse." The nurse unhelpfully supplied.

The Doctor pronounced the grim prognosis. "Okay, that's it, everybody. I'll call it. Time of death: 10:41 am."

 _The great John Winchester had died._

A/N: Reviews make me feel good.


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